


The Pitch

by vol_ctrl



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Alastor is Asexual but not Sex-Repulsed, Alastor is a Masochist, Alastor is a Sadist, Alastor is an Asshole, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Banter, Bottom Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Demons Are Assholes, Dialect, Electro-Stimulation, Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Erotic Electrostimulation, Hate Sex, Kismesis, M/M, Overstimulation, Partial-Wendigo Alastor, Power Bottom, Shitlords, The Radio Demon Fucks, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Vox, Vox Talks Like Max Headroom, Vox and Valentino are Friends, Vox is a Sadist, Vox is an Asshole, Vox is in Trouble, electrostim, staticlovetune, touch averse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21735436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl
Summary: Vox comes by to harass Alastor about this new wacky nonsense he's gotten himself involved in. Alastor discovers that there is such a thing as a good-bad touch.
Relationships: Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 549





	The Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing as we know next to nothing about Vox, here's my take. He talks with a halting, glitched speech like [Max Headroom](https://youtu.be/cYdpOjletnc), and his skin is electrified. Many thanks to [Fig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Fig/pseuds/Black_Fig) for ranting about Vox headcanons with me until dawn. And many thanks to [Kaylaber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylaber1/pseuds/kaylaber1) for workshopping the aesthetic for Vox's dialog!
> 
> Welcome to the Shitlords, darlings.

The disturbance at the hotel was obvious even before Alastor walked through the doors. The air was thick with signals, and not his usual frequencies. The noise was oppressive, a warble of a TV left on too loud in the next room. As soon as Alastor slammed open the door, the noise cut suddenly with the pop-hum-crackle of a television set.

Vox spun around on the stool at Husk’s bar to face the demon. Husk was nowhere in sight. "Alastor! The Rx--Rx-Radio Demon himself!" Vox's snowcrash grin twitched and juddered as he glitched. The greeting was punctuated by a triple blast of obnoxious air horn.

Alastor shut his eyes as the air horn sound effect whipped through his hair. "... Overlord Vox." Static sizzled in his tone, spoken like a curse. "What was that atrocious noise? It's almost as annoying as your presence."

"I was trying to talk your language, bx-bx--buddy ol' pal. Talking without the pxpx--pictures." His head changed channels, instead showing an old-timey "Please Stand By" slide.

"Charming." Al not so much smiled as bared his teeth. 

“Heard you had some new digs.” Vox turned his flatscreen head this way and that. “What a dx--dx-dump,” he said pleasantly with all the gusto of a game show host.

Alastor was forever well-rehearsed, but the TV demon had a certain drag on his composure, a special skill for getting under his skin. “The project is in its infancy,” he replied dryly.

“Wx-wx--what’s the pitch, buddy? Alastor, the Rx--Rx-Radio Demon himself,” Vox flashed an image of Alastor, all smiles and a clean pastel shirt, straight out of a sitcom promo, “invests in a failing hotel owned by the daughter of Lucifer,” Charlie jumped in frame, back to back with Alastor, both with painful looking smiles on their faces, “together with a cast of misfits, the antics never end!” 

A montage played: Angel setting something on fire in the kitchen, Husk walking in on Vaggie changing, the lights going out while Al is in the shower, his eyes glowing as they blink in surprise. The “trailer” ended and Vox’s snowcrash grin popped back on with a vacuum tube buzz. “That about right?”

Alastor gave a strikingly similar slow blink, but without any of the surprise. If anything, there was menace in the calm, cold flick of his eyelids. 

“It’s a strange change in dx-dz-demographic for you, Al. What about your fans?” A burst of applause, whistles, a well-dressed crowd clapping their hands meaningfully played on Vox’s digital canvas.

Alastor’s irritation was tangible, the air stained red with his bloodlust.

“Is that part of the twist? How does the Rx--Rx-Radio Demon keep his friends from finding out he’s a serial killer?!” His face popped up an image of Alastor covered in blood, grinning, and slowly raising a bloodied finger to his lips, shushing the viewer.

“Where is your off switch?” Alastor gripped his microphone horizontally, as if he might snap it in half. “I’d like to switch it off. Permanently.”

“I’m just sz-sx-spitballing here, buddy. I know a thing or two about ratings.” Vox displayed a chart with an upward trend, growing and weaving upward until it broke through the top.

Al stilled his fury-shaken hands with a breath, then twirled his microphone like a baton, snapped it to his mouth.

“This just in, ladies and gentlemen. The Overlord Vox is so dense, he thinks it’s a secret to ANYONE that I’M a MURDERER. ME, Alastor, _your fine host,_ the one who’s been broadcasting terror and extermination LIVE for eighty-six years. Would you care to say something stupid to our radio audience?” Alastor bent forward, offering the microphone to Vox.

The TV demon looked unamused. “It’s called a hook, you rz-rx--radio twit. Your sx--sx-sitcom doesn’t have one.” Vox lifted a sharp-fingered hand and pushed the microphone away slowly, as if it were some disgusting thing.

Al whipped the microphone away, slicing through the air. “Why are you here, Vox?”

“You’ve been so cx-cx-conspicuously absent since the last purge.” Vox put on a frown. “I missed the sound of your vz-vx-voice, pal.” His words were punctuated by a crooning “aww” track as Alastor’s face, focused on his lips pouring into his microphone, took focus on Vox’s glowing stage.

“My likeness is not for your private picture shows,” Alastor said, his voice scratching cruel like a needle on a record.

Vox’s demonic face clicked back on, leering and sultry, “If only you knew, Al.”

“Why don’t you crawl back into the whore den you crawled out of?” Alastor suggested.

“Az-ax-actually,” Vox smiled and lifted his glass of whiskey he had helped himself to while waiting for Alastor, “that’s part of wx-wz-why I’m here. Valentino’s a busy man…”

Alastor barked out a laugh. “You’re running errands for Valentino now? How… quaint,” he preened.

“I hear Valentino’s star is staying here. But he hasn’t been bringing Dd-Dd-Daddy Val,” Vox’s staggered voice lowered like a movie announcer and he played a quick-cut series of pornographic moments, some of Valentino’s best productions, with full, glorious audio, “his money.”

“Valentino doesn’t seem like the type to shy away from demanding his dues,” Alastor said with an expectant lift of his brows.

“Since Az--Ax-Angel _fuck,_ ” his tone pitched unnaturally low on the expletive add-on, “has been so flaky lately, Val is off looking for _new_ talent.” Vox’s eyes flashed. “But he thought I could be… persuasive.” The demon curled his fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking and sizzling with electricity.

Alastor's eyes flicked to the light show of Vox's gloved hand, then back at his glowing face. "Really, Vox? This is what it's come to? You're playing the muscle for a pimp?"

"For a fx-fz-friend, Al. I'd do the sz--sz-same for you. But you never call me," Vox said, crocodile tears animated down his face.

"Ha. If you want a job done right, you do it yourself," Alastor sneered. "Which is why _I'll_ be kicking you out." His eyes narrowed dangerously, static crackling, the hum growing.

Vox laughed and got to his feet. He straightened his coat as he strode over to Alastor, unperturbed by the deafening tone. "Al, bz-bx-buddy,” his pitch dropped in pity, “it really has been too long if you think that will work on me," he said, smooth as margarine and just as fake. He towered over Alastor from so close, his smiling screen taking up almost all of Alastor's vision.

Alastor's eyes widened as Vox's hands moved toward him, invading his five foot rule--which, with Vox, was more like a ten foot rule--to straighten his bowtie. A little sliver of electricity passed from Vox's fingers and to Al's throat, cutting the roar of static with a sharp punch of feedback.

Alastor immediately swept his microphone at Vox's forearms, shoving his hands away, then jerked it against the TV demon's throat.

"Get out of my hotel," Alastor said in a flat tone. His throat buzzed, felt almost sore. It was a subtle thing, a tingle--but Vox had _touched him_ without even _touching_ him. 

"Oh, it's your hotel now? Well that cz-cx--changes everything," Vox said as he planted a hand on his hip. He tilted his screen at Alastor, gave him none of the space the deer so obviously wanted. "Not much of a pz-px-premise, now." Vox took a step forward and relished the way Alastor took a step back, composed but insistent on his personal space. "All powerful Rx--Rz-Radio Demon runs hotel with a flimsy promise of a little girl's stupid dream." Vox took another step. "You'll be cz-cx-cancelled before the first season airs."

"Vox, you have no power here," Alastor said, smile never wavering.

"There's no underdog story! No tale of sx-sx-struggle," the TV demon went on, gesturing broadly as he advanced.

Alastor's brow furrowed, his eyes aglow, and the static began to rise again. Now it was more chaotic, like a jumble of stations, garbled and shrieking.

"It's nz-nx--no good if you're the main character," Vox flashed a big X across his screen accompanied by a buzzer. "I'm not here," Vox said, still pushing Alastor's boundary, driving it home by jabbing his finger against the radio demon's chest, "to play with yz--yx-you, Al. You're a bx-bz--boring protagonist. I'm here to start an az-ax--arc with Az-Az-Angel Dust."

Alastor found himself backed into a wall. He was sweating, mind racing furiously. Vox had dared touch him, actually poke him--and there was a spark. A literal jolt of electricity that passed between his fingertip and Alastor's body. The displeasure of being touched was firing conflicted in his synapses as it was crossed with pain. A kind of pain that set his skin alight in ways that normal touch did not.

"Besides," Vox said as he planted an arm over Alastor's shoulder, well and truly cornering him, "yz-yx--your weakness is touch? Hahaha," Vox's laughter was echoed and multiplied by a laugh track. "You're too easy, bz-bx--buddy."

Vox leaned in to enjoy the look on Alastor's face as he stroked his cheek. He could practically smell the disdain rolling off him, the disgust.

Much to his surprise, Alastor did not recoil. He did not shudder with revulsion, nor did he growl in pain. It could not have felt good. Sure, with his gloves in the way, the effect of his electrified flesh was dulled, but even mild electrocution was unpleasant.

"You think it's a weakness?" Alastor buzzed. "No, no, no, my dear digital fellow. It's a preference. I prefer not to be touched by swine." The radio demon's hand snapped around Vox's wrist and pulled it away from him. But, to Vox's curiosity, Alastor didn't immediately let go. The radio demon's eyes flicked over those still fingers, drinking in the sensation of his palm's contact with Vox's gloved wrist.

"Are you so old and analog that you cz-cx-can't feel that?" Vox asked with genuine curiosity.

"Oh, I can feel it."

Vox's devil eyes widened. "Oh, now _that's_ entertaining," the TV demon murmured.

Alastor let go of Vox's wrist sharply, but the TV demon swore he saw Al's chest deflate a little, his shoulders sink. Like he _missed_ that current running through him.

"So, rz-rx-rumor has it that the Rx--Rz-Radio Demon can't be bought with sex." That was _his_ domain, but Alastor's lack of interest in it made either alliance or corruption impossible. "But I'm beginning to qz-qx-question my sources." His hand persisted, returning again to drag a finger down Alastor’s chest. “Fx-fz--fake news is all the rage these days,” he hissed as Alastor’s chest rose to meet his touch.

"I cannot be bought. You know this, darling." Alastor fought to still his chest, but that sizzle through his clothes was addictive. It made him feel _alive._

"But does that mean the Rz--Rx-Radio Demon doesn't fuck?" Vox punctuated his question by sliding his hand from Alastor's belt to inseam. He was rewarded with a loud, emphatic moan.

Vox's hand shocked him--not in that it surprised him, but literally, sharp, tingling tendrils burrowing in his skin. It was incredible. He felt the sensation burn up, radiating from where Vox had touched. It was quite possibly the first time an unwelcome touch had made him so incredibly aroused. 

"This is…" Alastor's tone had a drawl that was normally buried under his bravado, "no longer lobby-appropriate conversation."

"Where _wz-wx-would_ you like to continue this conversation, Al?" Vox asked. He expected Alastor would tell him to fuck off, get out of the hotel.

"I was under the impression you were here to--oh, what was the inane nonsense you called it-- _start an arc_ with Angel," Alastor mused, but stared at Vox with heavy-lidded eyes.

Vox could see the rise and fall of Alastor's chest, more affected than he'd ever seen the composed bastard. "To hell with that," Vox snorted, making no attempt to hide the way he looked Al up and down.

Alastor sneered as Vox's horny, wolfish look.

"Don't play coy with me now, px-pz--pal," Vox said in a low voice. He walked his fingers slowly down Alastor's chest and heard the demon's intake of breath. "Oh, this is too fucking good," Vox muttered. His hand traveled around Alastor's hip and down over his ass. His other hand joined it, and he pulled Alastor flush against his body.

Alastor tensed as Vox's hand moved over so many inches of his clothed body. His brain was short-circuiting, fizzling, and then Vox was pressed flush against him and every inch of him was on fire and he was getting hard and-- Alastor grabbed Vox by his broad shoulders and shoved him back.

The Radio Demon took a few breaths, his static buzz returning, a dead air hum that described his overwrought senses in that moment.

"What? You blow a fx--fz-fuse, old man?" Vox asked.

Alastor didn't have words for the sudden, violent desire he felt. He said nothing, instead turned on his heel, clasped his hands behind his back, and marched deeper into the hotel.

Vox grinned and stroked back his hair in a cocky gesture--or where his hair would have been, had he not been cursed with this digital form he could barely keep strapped in some skin and a TV screen. He followed after the radio demon to the elevator. The car arrived just as Alastor stepped in front of it, as if it had been expecting him.

The accordion cage door squeaked as it collapsed to one side. Alastor’s bootheels clicked smartly on the worn wood floor as he stepped into the elevator, turning about-face to eye Vox as the tall overlord ducked inside after him. The two stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a definitive electricity in the air. Alastor could practically smell it, like wires melting under the strain.

Vox glanced around the old-fashioned elevator as it started to take them upwards. “Y’know,” he started with a grin and turned toward Alastor. “Private enough in here.” He loomed over Alastor, but the radio demon shot out a hand, stopping Vox in his tracks with an arm as rigid as rebar.

“No.” Alastor refused flat-out in a tone that brokered no room for negotiation. He looked evenly at Vox, none of that hunger present in his impassive smile.

Vox laughed. “Why so hx--hz-hot and cold, baby?” He took Alastor’s wrist and removed his hand, but didn’t give him the pleasure-pain of more than a momentary grip of his fingers on the inside of his wrist.

“Have a little class. Or is that snappy suit just for show?”

Vox straightened his bowtie as he narrowed one eye to a slit in Al’s direction. “Should’a known you’d be vz-vx-vanilla.” He tilted his screen thoughtfully. “Although… only real freaks want what _Ix--Iz-I_ got.” His grin nearly took up the entire bottom half of his screen as his eyes traveled over Alastor lustfully. “Just how fz-fx-freaky are you?”

“That is for me to know,” Alastor said smoothly, then pitched his voice low, sultry and warm as radio, “and you to find out.”

The elevator stopped with a lurch and the cage popped open. Vox mugged an overly polite bow and gestured to the door. “After you,” he said with the air of a gentleman.

Alastor led the way down the hall. This floor had fewer doors than many of the lower ones, and the black door of his room was not always where it stood now. Should Alastor not want to be found, his room would be impossible to locate.

The door opened itself for Alastor and his guest. The room was clean and well furnished--Vox would have noticed were he not too occupied with grabbing Al and finding a wall to shove him against. He couldn't kiss, or feel anything with his mouth, because of the state of his head, but he could see--he could see everything. 

He could see that Al was gritting back more unseemly noises as he ran hands over his chest, pulled his jacket open. The radio demon didn't fight him as he pushed the jacket off his shoulders. In fact, Al grabbed one of Vox's wrists and rubbed it against his throat. The redheaded beast made the most wonderful sound as he shuddered, that impeccable composure slipping once more.

"I knew you were a sadz-dx-dist but…" Vox grinned as he pressed his palm against the column of Alastor's throat, squeezing and rubbing his thumb against the demon's pale, pretty neck.

Alastor gave Vox such a seductive look, his eyes so full of hunger, that the TV demon popped an immediate boner. If he could have blushed, he might have, so startled was he to see that look on the radio demon’s face. Al had never in all their years looked at him with anything but disdain, or occasional amusement. That look was intoxicating.

Vox was a shiller of sex, but part of his punishment, his lot in Hell, was that he couldn't actually have sex, himself. His body was a walking torture device, a joke hand-buzzer on steroids, a piss on the third rail. His thick clothes made it so he could choose when to really let loose and zap anyone near him, or dumb enough to touch him, but they were a constant reminder of his inability to touch or be touched, dulling his contact with the world.

He surrounded himself with sex. He liked the idea of it, the aesthetic, the oversexed glamor of the porn industry. Cover it in enough glitz and fantasy, make it debauchery incarnate, and it ceased to be that tender thing so precious to the saps.

But rarely was it raw and real, like this. Alastor's muscles were tense with the pain of his touch, but his eyelids were fluttering, his breath husky.

"The less you're wearing, the mx-mz--more intense it's gonna be, sugar," Vox murmured sweetly, a warning.

"What about the less you're wearing?" Alastor asked in a feral tone. He lifted Vox's hand from his throat, one red eye staring unblinking at Vox's glittering screen, the other hidden behind his forelocks. He took Vox's glovetip between his sharp teeth, tugging it free bit by bit.

Vox's skin had a bluish tinge, a faint roving static just beneath the surface. Alastor's tongue came forward as he opened his mouth in invitation. He took two of the TV demon's fingers in his mouth and moaned sharply as he felt the shock trickle down his esophagus. He bit down, fangs cutting into Vox's fingers.

"Holy sz-sx-shit. You are a goddamn _fx-fz--freak_ , Al," Vox laughed and brought his other hand to cradle Al's head, stroking his ear. This brought another hungry moan from the radio demon, who leaned into the touch. "Didn't know you hx-hz--had it in you."

Alastor spat Vox's fingers out, his lips trembling for a moment. "I thought I was supposed to be the talkative one. Does this thing have a mute button?" Alastor reached for Vox's screen and started feeling around the sides for a button.

"Hey, hey. Hands off the merchandise," Vox said and shook his head to disturb Alastor's hands.

"Too bad I can't silence you another way," Alastor muttered in a low voice.

"Would you stick your dick in a toaster?" Vox asked incredulously.

"I'll try almost anything once."

Vox grinned and hooked his fingers in Alastor's waistband, dragging him close. He pressed his thigh between the radio demon's legs and was rewarded with a shudder. Alastor's hands gripped at Vox's lapels as he rocked his hips against his thigh. The TV demon was shook that Al was so fucking hard, so fucking hungry for his electric touch.

Vox tugged Al's bowtie open with a flourish and started on the buttons of his shirt, while the radio demon made quick work of his gloves. He unbuttoned his cuffs in time for Vox to pull that off of him.

His skin was tingling in the wake of Vox's touches so far, the light grazes as the TV demon dragged his shirt off. Then, Vox touched him with his bare hand. It was like being struck by lightning, like a chemical burn, like a fraction of dying, of the pain he inflicted on his victims.

Vox saw something raw and unpolished on Al's face. His composure was utterly cracked, his grinning mask ruined with this honest relief. The TV demon ran his finger back up Al's chest, over the cords of his throat, into his hair. Al moaned and rocked forward, pressing against Vox's front, draping his arms over those broad shoulders.

Now that he'd had a taste of the real, raw power, the muted current through Vox's suit felt more like a vibration than a shock.

Vox was amazed as Al looked up at him with a pleasure-drunk look and rubbed against his thigh, pressed his bare chest against Vox's current, humming with the burn of his sensitive nipples.

With the radio demon pressed flush against him, Vox saw something for the first time--Al's tail. It sat just above his waistband, red and black, the hint of white fluff on the underside. How could he resist? He skimmed down the valley of Al's spine and ran his bare fingers over the softness of Al's fur.

Alastor let out a high-pitched sound and his claws dug into Vox's suit. Vox's own moan of pleasure was lost underneath--or would have been, had Alastor not been pressed so close he could hear it buzz in Vox's chest. Alastor peered up at Vox. The TV demon's rudimentary expression was a mystery to him, but it was a simple enough puzzle to put together.

"You can't touch anyone," Alastor mused, shooting an equally unreadable smile back at Vox. "It must be lonely."

"Isn't that the beauty of media?" Vox shot back with a cocky grin to smother the utter _pleasure_ of feeling something soft and warm and _alive_ \--well, as much as anything could be alive in Hell--under his fingers, responding to his touch with desire, not revulsion. And of all the fucking people, it would be touch-repulsed Alastor. "You're never rz-rx--really alone. TV can be your best friend."

Alastor rocked his hips between the faint sting of Vox's clothed thigh pressed up against his cock and the burn he felt all the way up his spine, to the very tips of his ears, from Vox's bare hand resting on his tail. "I find radio to be better company," Alastor buzzed.

 _How can you like this?_ Vox wanted to ask. _Why are you like this?_ might deliver a more telling answer, but Vox knew Alastor would never tell him that. The radio demon’s reputation preceded him, and it really should have come as no surprise that he got off on pain. He certainly relished in the pain of others. Perhaps it was fantasy fulfillment, inflicting that pain he so desired on others.

Vox took Alastor by the hips and shoved him toward the bed. “Lz--lx-let’s see that pretty dick of yours, baby. I want to see you hurt for me.” The TV demon was pleased to see that this apparently was the right thing to say. Alastor took off his boots and shed the rest of his clothes promptly.

Once Alastor was in the mood for sex, he was veritably shameless. The act had so little appeal to him under normal circumstances that he felt equal disinterest in the shame or desire related to it. He bared his body with ease, gleaning enjoyment out of the hunger his nakedness inspired in Vox.

Vox took off his other glove and rubbed his hands together in anticipation, creating a static sizzle, sparks shooting from his fingertips and palms. Alastor sat on the edge of the bed and crooked his finger at Vox in invitation. The TV demon hardly needed any. He was eager to touch all of that pale flesh and see Alastor really come undone.

Alastor’s muscles jumped as Vox’s electrified palms slid over his thighs, and Vox was thrilled to see the deer’s cock throb untouched at the sensation. As Alastor extended a hand to cup the bulge in Vox’s trousers, the TV demon grabbed him sharply by the hips and jerked him toward the edge of the bed, sending Alastor onto his back. Any words on his tongue dissolved into moans as those shocking-static fingers traveled up his sides and over his ribs.

“You just let me kz-kx--know when it’s too mz-mx-much, baby,” Vox preened.

Alastor shot him a nasty grin. “I don’t think you understand my--” He choked on his words as Vox pinched one of his nipples. The shock scattered across his chest, the nerves firing further across the span of his torso. If his heart was still pumping in his chest, it might have skipped a beat. Alastor huffed, not to be undone so quickly. “ _Capacity,_ ” he hissed through gritted teeth, “for pain.”

Vox kept rolling Alastor’s nipple between his fingers as his other hand graced up Alastor’s neck, causing him to arch, shivering, from the bed. “Well, you’re still capable of speech,” Vox mused as he ran his fingers into Alastor’s hair, thumb pressing against those grinning lips. “For nz-nx-now,” he said with dark promise.

Vox pressed his thumb past Alastor’s sharp fangs, tugged his mouth open, sliding two of his fingers inside. The sensation of those stinging fingers on his tongue traveled down his throat and felt as if it met somewhere in his chest with the stimulation from his nipple. Alastor moaned on a tight throat and canted his hips toward Vox. The TV demon was infuriatingly just out of reach between his thighs.

For being so indulgent, Vox had his own brand of calculated composure. He was so used to the invisible barrier he kept between himself and other demons that it was natural for him to keep his hips just-so away from Alastor. In an unusual turn of events, the body under his painful touch _wanted_ to feel that sting.

Vox drank in the look of Alastor, the all powerful radio demon, with such a sweet crease of his brow. Did he realize how he was trembling? Vox’s hand finally drifted from the deer’s nipple and he felt the demon’s chest cave in relief. 

Alastor was veritably squirming as Vox’s hand slid down his torso, and he tensed as that sting shocked his flat stomach. His fangs pinched Vox’s fingers, and the TV demon laughed.

“Hurts so good?” Vox teased. He extricated his fingers from Alastor’s mouth, wanting to hear him try to articulate.

“More,” Alastor growled with a hungry grin. “Don’t stop there.”

Vox widened an eye at Alastor, that static-rough voice doing something to him. Apparently he didn’t obey Alastor’s command fast enough, because the radio demon grabbed his hand and wrapped it tight around his cock. Vox had never heard the gentleman demon curse so filthily.

Vox was not one to deny a willing partner--they were in such short supply. He pumped Alastor’s cock and the deer writhed, claws tearing at the sheets.

“Aren’t you going to put thossse,” Alastor’s drawl dragged, “fingers to good use?”

“Nz-nx--needy little bitch, aren’t you?” Vox sneered. He pressed his fingers against Alastor’s entrance and suppressed a little shudder as Alastor’s moan nearly burst a speaker. He grinned as the puckered flesh fluttered to his touch as he pushed one finger inside.

The sensation of that electric intrusion nearly sent Alastor over the edge. He clutched his chest, dragging nails over parchment-pale flesh, leaving red trails in their wake. The pain, different and visceral in a way the near-constant hum of current assaulting his body was not, helped ground him.

The addition of another finger made Alastor see stars, the burn of being stretched paling in comparison to the burn of more electric stimulation. Vox plunged deeper and hit his prostate, and Alastor was ruined. He came violently, bucking against Vox’s hand on his cock. His breath came in ragged gasps as the sting of Vox’s touch continued to assault him. It was verging on too much, and Alastor craved it, wanted to chase this pain forever.

“What a gz-gx-good bx--bz-boy,” Vox preened. “Came sz-sx-so pretty for me. Yz-yx--you should be in pictures.”

Alastor’s insides were on fire, riding the high of his orgasm for much longer than he’d ever experienced. It was intoxicating, feeling the sting radiating from his overstimulated cock, over his thighs, the fingers inside him shooting jolts up his spine. He swore he could feel a current rattling in his skull.

“Now, thz-thx-that’s what I call entertainment,” Vox said with satisfaction as he took his fingers from inside Alastor.

Alastor made the most inhuman noise--it wasn’t even the mechanical radio noise Vox was used to, it was something more primal, something _bestial._ Alastor’s horns branched with a horrible sound like cracking bone, and those red eyes glowed as he lunged toward Vox and grabbed him by his shirt.

“ _I’m not done with you yet,_ ” Alastor growled, his voice crawling, like nails clawing at the inside of a coffin after being buried alive, like the churn of earth as something ancient and evil wormed its way to the surface.

Vox’s eyes widened, but he was powerless to stop the rabid deer from dragging him to the bed. He was so startled he just held up his hands as Alastor mounted him with a mad grin. His fly was torn open by sharp claws and he feared he might have something else torn off with Alastor in his current state.

Alastor hissed with pleasure as he drew Vox’s cock out, immeasurably pleased that even this part of the TV demon hummed and burned with electricity. He could feel Vox’s veins against his palm, pumping current through his cock as he stroked him.

Vox groaned and sank back to the bed. It had been way too fucking long since anyone had even tried touching him. Usually it ended in disappointment. Even the pain freaks he’d fucked around with in the past couldn’t hold a candle to Alastor’s firm, unrelenting touch. Was Alastor going to actually fuck him? His screen was fuzzed with static, an indication of the state of his mind at this point.

“You just let me know when it’s too much,” Alastor hissed through his fangs, his smile so oppressive the words didn’t even move it.

“Fuck,” was all Vox could get out before Alastor speared himself on his cock. He moaned, heels digging into the sheets as he was consumed by Alastor’s tight, hot heat. His hands gripped Alastor’s hips, and he swore he smelled something burning. Melting plastic, something rotten, burning trash. Were his wires melting?

Alastor howled as Vox filled him, with static flesh, with his current, shocked him to his core. He rode Vox wildly, every thrust electrifying him until he felt like he was buzzing, vibrating. It felt as if his skin was going to be flayed off by the sensation, leave him raw and stripped.

Vox blurily registered how goddamn gorgeous Alastor looked riding him, and how terrifying. He’d seen the radio demon at full power, but never up close. He’d watched with amusement as Alastor broadcasted his particular brand of entertainment on the masses, seen him rip open throats with his bare hands, dismember demons with his void-black tendrils--and his look was the same as it was now. Carnage incarnate.

Vox feasted on that power, pumped his own power inside Alastor to fuel it. The radio demon was shredding his suit with hungry claws, but Vox didn’t care. He normally wasn’t one for giving the radio demon what he wanted, but in this case he was more than happy to oblige.

Alastor was hard again, and Vox’s hand found his cock, stroking him with the desperate pace he had set. Alastor roared, the very air around him growing dark, the space glitched and torn, and came.

Vox’s orgasm crashed over him so violently that his screen flickered to static-torn stripes. _Technical difficulties, please stand by._ His moans came out tripped up and stuttered, a bad loop on a scratched CD.

Alastor eased his ferocious movements with a slow, gravely sigh. The darkness began to return to whence it came, and the radio demon began to resemble a relatively human shape again. He lingered for a moment, drinking in just a little more current into his overwrought body.

Vox’s screen went black, then booted up. It took a moment before his face reappeared, and by that time, Alastor had freed himself and was standing up from the edge of the bed. He sat up slowly as the deer walked away from him, tail twitching just above his narrow ass, a trickle of spend dripping down his inner thigh.

Alastor went into the en suite, then emerged with a towel. He used it to clean himself up, casual as anything. He looked content as he offered the towel to Vox. The TV demon wasn’t used to seeing that kind of smile on Alastor’s face.

“I suppose you have your answer now,” Alastor said as he wandered over to his desk.

Vox shot Alastor a look.

The radio demon opened a drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray. He sat on the edge of his desk and leaned over to prop open the window above it. “The Radio Demon does, indeed, fuck.” He offered that enigmatic smile before putting a cigarette between his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Would love to hear your thoughts about my Vox dialect. I'm terribly fond of it, but it may be obnoxious to read, haha. Follow me on Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) for updates, other works, and more fan content!
> 
> _Stay tuned ~_


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